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might have been modelling clothes I can’t think.”
    Charlotte smiled at her.
    “There are any number of girls who look good in clothes,” she assured her admiring friend, “but typing other people’s letters is one sure method of earning a living. However, my future plans are somewhat different now, and I may not return to typing letters. I shall probably sell out my share of the partnership and invest it in something else.”
    “Oh!” Hannah’s eyes were bright and questioning as they walked towards Charlotte’s small parked car. “Such as what?” she enquired.
    Charlotte glanced round at her almost impishly over her blue clad shoulder.
    “Tremarth?” she suggested. “I had an idea this morning, and I may yet make it work!”
    On the way back to Tremarth there was so much to talk about that Charlotte did not pursue for the time being whatever plan it was she had formed for the house that had once belonged to her great-aunt. And when they finally arrived at Tremarth Hannah was so full of admiration for its attractive exterior that it seemed a pity to introduce such a purely commercial topic as making the place pay when the new arrival simply wanted to reproduce it on canvas.
    “It’s a lovely old house,” she declared. “It’s a long time since I had a go at a really large canvas, but to-morrow I’ll set my easel up on the terrace and see what I can achieve. Luckily I’ve brought several canvases with me — ” it had been difficult to find a place for them in Charlotte’s tiny car — “as well as my oils. I can see that I’m going to have a heavenly time now that I’ve actually arrived!” and she sounded really enthusiastic.
    Charlotte smiled at her affectionately and led her inside the house. Hannah’s enthusiasm increased and she practically dissolved into rhapsodies over the splendid hall fireplace and the panelling that was so remarkably well preserved.
    “If this house belonged to me,” she declared in a reverential whisper, “I’d settle down and live in it, and I’d never return to London.” “Ah, but you’re an artist,” her friend reminded her, “and artists can settle down almost anywhere if they like the surroundings enough. I’m a very practical person, and I think the kitchen is a bit of a problem.... But you’ll discover that later on!”
    They ascended the stairs to the room she had got ready for Hannah. It was next door to the one she had selected for herself, and they both had magnificent views, looking directly out to sea, and had the added convenience and touch of intimacy of sharing a bathroom.
    Hannah spent some time examining the furniture and assessing its value from the stand point of one who was fairly knowledgeable about such matters, and then they went downstairs to the kitchen to make a pot of tea Waterloo accompanied them, and since he and Hannah were old friends it was a very satisfactory day for the old dog. In the morning he had met a man he had liked — although Charlotte was considerably at a loss to know why he had actually fawned on him. And now Hannah had contrived to stay with them, as evidenced by the luggage she had brought with her, and that gratified Waterloo very much indeed.
    Even Hannah, however, was brought up a little short when she saw the size of the kitchen. A coach and horses could have filled it with ease, and left room for a team of outriders. The paintwork was decidedly drab, and the vast kitchen dresser was crowded with china that was unashamedly dusty. The daily woman during her tours of duty had obviously had little time to devote to it, and as Charlotte lifted cups off the hooks she carried them fastidiously over to the sink and washed them under a running tap before drying them on a clean tea-towel.
    Hannah nodded in an enlightened way.
    “Yes, I see what you mean.” She perched herself on a comer of the big centre table. “But I still think it’s a wonderful place, and you’re lucky it’s yours. Miracles could be